What does it mean to be me?
In this world where it seems so hard to be free?
Free of the media, and expectations held,
The seams of my personality coming from a mold, waiting to be weld.
Weld into this sculpture, which stands fair and tall,
With a girl inside, just wishing to be small.
Smaller my hopes dwindle, each and every day,
For the monsters inside people to just drift away.
Because as the years pass, and memories fly by,
The child inside me turns to ash as she dies.
Death by the hand of the beholder, it’s said,
The child inside never wishes to be dead.
But she clings to me, in my growing years,
Showing me comfort in my health and my tears.
As I grow older and wiser, the experience molding me,
My challenges grow bolder and stronger, the affects beholding me.
But with this experience comes cleverness, learning to deal with the world,
Learning to deal with those expectations, which are so cleverly hurled.
They hurl them at my mind, which gets stronger each day,
That child inside never fully drifting away.